The Humor of Humors

In writing about a topic like humor, which everyone experiences but few can define, it is tempting to turn to the dictionary. It would be wise to resist that temptation. The definitions are exercises in synonomy, a word not in the dictionary, but you get my meaning. However, where definitionology fails us some sleuthing entomology can help.

The word humor comes from humorem, the Latin word for fluid, and originally had as much to do with funny as the aqueous and vitreous humors of the eye. Nothing funny there at all, except the Canal of Schlemm which, as you can see by looking at the diagram, I’m not making up.

Schlemm rhymes with phlegm—one of the four humors (along with black and yellow bile and blood) that in ancient times were thought to determine a person’s health. The four humors had to be in proper balance in the body. This was the heyday of “humoral medicine,” when everyone had the same health-care plan: none. Just as well, because the basic advice from your health-care provider would be, “Take two leeches and call me in the morning.” In which case it would be more likely that the leeches would be around in the morning than you.

Humoral medicine eventually morphed into humoral psychology. Having your humors out of whack could make you dull, tetchy, overly hopeful, or a sourpuss.

These characterological deviants were called “humorists,” and the people who mocked them were called “men of humor.” I know, I know, it should be the other way around, and in due time it was.

In the interim, the idea caught on that by throwing odd characters together on the stage, or in a book, you would have the ingredients of comic conflict.

Conflict between different personality types is unpleasant in personal life but funny when exaggerated for comic effect. Think “The Odd Couple,” “Married with Children,” or these New Yorker cartoons.

The formula for this type of play, a comedy of humors based on characters who were caricatures of themselves, was nicely expressed by Ben Johnson concerning his play “Every Man Out of His Humor,” a tour de force, considering it was performed without the benefit of the letter “U.”

Some one peculiar quality Doth so possess a man, that it doth draw All his affects, his spirits, and his powers, In their confluctions, all to run one way.

Confluctions, eh? Probably nothing to worry about, but take two leeches and call me in the morning.